


Whatever Happened To Just Hand-Holding???

by AiTaiga



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Other, PWP without Porn, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, author AGGRESSIVELY SWEATING, dont worry everyone has a good time, gender neutral reader, light dick stepping, safety words, usage of safety word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AiTaiga/pseuds/AiTaiga
Summary: Warrior of Light and Hien just having some fun with sashes and hair pulling.





	1. Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

> do u ever look at Hien's messy ass hair and go "someone needs to brush that"?  
> tried to leave WoL as gender/race/build neutral as I could  
> but no lalafells im sry no offense lalafells also i didn't proof read this at fuckin all

Hien fidgets nervously in the doorway of your inn room, shifting his weight as he glances away from where you lounge on the floor among the cushions. With your cheek propped against your knuckles, you study him openly. There's pink in his cheeks, and tension in his arms. You think that even from here you can see the rapid flutter of his pulse. His tongue wets his lips nervously, but his eyes are alight with the excitement of pre-battle when you softly call his name. Extending your hand, you beckon him closer with a languid curl of your fingers. As if tugged by invisible strings, he steps up onto the tatami floor, striding forward stiffly.

Silence. He lingers in front of you with only the sound of his breathing, slightly harsher than usual, and the soft buzz of cicada just outside the window breaking the stillness. You regard him with a languid stare, as if you have all the time in the world to simply lay there and bask in his nervous energy. You know exactly what he’s here for- exactly what he desires- even if he can’t bring himself to speak it aloud. 

When you hold out your hand, he takes it instantly, gently aiding you to your feet. His calloused grip lingers around your palm, drawing you gently closer by it. It’s the tender embrace of a lover, his other hand seeking to stroke your cheek. You mirror the touch, tracing the along his cheekbone, circling up and around to follow the gnarled flesh of his scar. He sucks his bottom lip, an innocent act that no longer suits the air.

You sink your fingers into the root of his choppy up-do, gently scraping your nails against his scalp. There’s bliss in his eyes, serenity washing over his face with a quiet exhale. That is until you twist those strands around your fingers and yank him down by them. The gasp of pain is muted but he follows the beckon of your hand obediently, and for his troubles he receives a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth.

You reassure him in a whisper that he’s such a good boy, while walking your nails up his chest. You feel the flutter of his heart quicken beneath their steps. The sensation brings a hungry smile to your lips and a labored breath from his own. For a quiet moment you study him with a cock of your head, then curiously inquire if he enjoys pain.

The answer is in his eyes before it’s on his lips. The no is on his lips, but your reflection in his eyes says; “But if it’s by your hand…” Of course he would be so loyal. He was willing to fall on the sword for his people, why wouldn’t he for the one who helped liberate them?

It’s so much more than that though. You know it so well. In the playful competitions you two had as you’d raced across the steppes together, and to see who caused the most wreckage in the rebellion. It was in shared glances between you two since then. He would die for you. He would-

“Kneel for me.” You command cooly, loosening your vicious grip on his hair though you do not untangle your hand from the roots. There’s hesitation, and the silence is heavy while you wait for a protest. There isn’t one. Certainly not in the way he looks at you. It’s a studying gaze, mayhaps the same one he’d given Magnai as he’d sized up the Xaela man in their confrontations. Ah, so that is it. He is sizing you up, weighing the pros and cons of his choices and letting the taste of loyalty linger in his mouth to deem it bitter or sweet.

He sinks slowly to his knees, his eyes still on yours and your hand still serving as a guide. You reward him with a gentle croon and gingerly massage his stinging scalp. Ever so slightly does he tip his head into your palm like a wary mongrel receiving tenderness for the first time. It’s a precious sight and you relish in having it all to yourself.

“Tend to me.” You command, your statuses reversed. You think for a moment he might not obey, that he hasn’t forsaken his lordship despite being on his knees on the floor at your feet. Yet calloused hands rise slowly, touching the sides of your thighs through the silk of your robe. In the presence of your approving smile, his eyes light up. Your eyes drop to his throat, strained from looking up at you, and you think he might look nice with a collar.

You have a friend back in Eorzea who’s a master leather worker. You think you might give him a call.

Twitching fingers climb your thighs, over the curves of your hips to settle on the sash sloppily tied into a lopsided bow. “You know, this is how the prostitutes wear theirs.” He notes with a crooked grin as he tugs one end of the bow, then winces visibly when you give his hair a yank. You remind him you didn’t give him permission to speak, to which he falls into silence once more. As if you didn’t know. You tied it like this for the same reasons the girls in the Red Lantern district did.

It makes removing it simple, the silk slowly unwinding from your middle to pool at your feet. Eventually you loosen your hold and from there he continues. His hands slip beneath the opening of your robe, sword born callouses scraping softly against your ribs. He’s gifted with your shuddery inhale, the flutter of your heart beat rapid beneath his palm. He hasn’t quite earned the right to be wearing such a dopey grin just yet, but you let him have it anyway because it does suit him.

You fondly recall how it had stirred Magnai’s ire to have a handsome Doman smirking in the face of his intimidation tactics. It had quickened your blood then, as it did now. You wanted to protect such a smile, nurture it, and make it your own.

His hands slide along your ribs and up along your chest to feel it fill his palms when you suck in a long breath. With a slump of your shoulders you let the oversized silk fall away, leaving you bared to the chill air and his heated gaze. Use your mouth, you tell him in a purr, sliding your fingers so you can begin to pluck at the tie to his hair.

When you meet his gaze it’s almost pitch, swallowed up by pupils blown wide in lust. You almost forget what color they were for a moment, if not for the subtle ring still vivid around it. The eagerness spurs a chuckle in your belly, one that escapes your lips when you feel his breath tickle your flesh. “You’re so obedient!” You keen when he presses an open mouthed kiss against your belly. “Why, I bet I could tell you to bark like a dog and you would do it!”

His movements stop, save for the cascade of his dark hair when you finally pluck the rope that bound it. He’s watching you intently, muscles bunched beneath scarred flesh. Your breath catches.

“Bark for me.” The words feel silly on your tongue. You comb your nails delicately through his hair now.

He blinks slowly, then utters a guttural “Bwoof.” against where his lips are pressed. The sound tickles your skin; the servility tickles you more. You shower whispered praises on him for it, promising a sweet reward for your good boy.

Whether he believes you or not remains unspoken, but you think you feel it in the way he kisses you now. His lips are eager butterflies along the lines of your abdomen, leaving the faintest moisture that cools deliciously on your skin. There’s a swipe of his tongue over a faint bead of sweat that had begun to well up, then it dips into your navel and makes you shiver a little. You’re content to continue combing his messy mane as his does, ignoring when your fingers snag in a knot, simply ripping right through it.

Maybe your reward would be just brushing his fucking hair.

He lingers just below the divot, and just above the hem of your undergarment. There’s hesitation once more, the subtle flexing of his fingers on your thighs giving away his anxiousness. You consider reeling him in by that thick mane again. Instead you watch while the combing of your fingers shifts to push his bangs from his face. “What is the matter?” His tongue darts out to wet his flushed lips, his eyes glancing away from your own for a moment. Your brow furrows, irritation rising in your chest, but your sixth sense speaking louder. 

Oh- You assure him he may speak, which garners his gaze once more. 

“Here too?” He questions with all the innocence in the world, but there’s nothing innocent in the way he slides his fingers down your pubic bone and into the apex of your thighs. They’re thick and deliciously warm just beyond the flimsy hempen cloth. 

“Yes.” You practically purr, the sound dragged out as you flex your fingers in his hair. Your hips press into the touch, seeking more friction than what he tantalizes you with. “Show me just how loyal you are.” Your tone is sickly sweet and doting, a farce in your game. His fingers move away, leaving you wanting. 

“Yes,” He murmurs, but you tug his hair gently to remind him that he’s forgotten something. You think he might just be daft for a moment when he ignores the warning sting to instead mouth your hip bone, dragging the flat of his tongue against your flesh. “Master.” He finishes, reassuring you he’s simply keeping this game fun before he scrapes his teeth gently against the bone and makes your thigh quiver with the effort to keep you upright. You can’t take your gaze off of him as he works, reveling in your body’s taste, paying it homage with his touch. 

There is a shift, and your eyes are gifted a glimpse of his trousers, the apex of which is disturbed. Your eyes light up, your lips breaking out into a toothy grin. The hesitation had not been disobedience, but instead relishing in the way your harsh touch and stern commands had dampened the crotch of his pants. The fact makes you giddy, but your revelry is short lived when something hot and wet presses against your sex. Both hands sink into his hair to support you now, your eyelids fluttering as the muscle of his tongue digs at you through the fabric. 

When you manage to pry them half open, he’s staring up at you with his mouth buried between your thighs, his eyes alight with defiance. He’s shaken you on your throne. You let him think he’s won. When your garments are soaked, he catches the hem in his teeth, making a show of baring his canines at you. You suppose it’s meant to be a warning. 

You find it cute.

Your legs shift to aid him as he drags the soiled garment down until they fall at your feet. You kick them away with little care, far more enchanted by the way he stares at you now. His cheeks are ruddy, his teeth working the inside of his cheek. You don’t have to follow his gaze to know what he sees, because you can just feel the mess between your thighs; slick with his saliva and your own arousal. You let him admire while your fingers gently massage his abused roots. 

Hien takes too long. 

It’s entertaining to watch his tongue dart out over his lips, but you need it somewhere else. Maybe he senses your patience dwindling like the wick in the lantern, because at the soft press of your hand he tilts into you as easy as a feather in the breeze. You think at first that it’s the obedience finally kicking in. Unfortunately it’s far worse. He devours you just like how he kisses you; open mouthed and hungry, reverent and slow. He’s paying tithe as if you’re one of his homeland’s kami; the drag of his tongue and the soft scrape of his teeth silent prayers.

You shudder bodily, your head falling back as you choke on your moan. You can’t let him have that, not just yet. Your praise is a privilege and he hasn’t earned the answer to his carnal pleas. He moans against your sex, the sound vibrating against your flesh and this time the soft gasp betrays you. One hand scrapes along his scalp, the other clawing along whatever is solid and within arm’s reach so you can destroy it instead of yanking a bald spot in your precious prince’s mane. You feel bamboo splinter under your nails. Oops. You lift your head and chance a glance at him to find his eyelids heavy with lust, and he makes a show of dragging the flat of his tongue against you to collect your arousal on his pallet. The pearlescent liquid lingers there before he closes his lips, the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. The world spins as all the blood in your head just charges south. You’re not sure what your expression is but his taunting smirk speaks volumes. 

It falls away with choked cry when you bring your foot down on his cock.

Your name is a pained hiss between his teeth, yet the roll of his hips against your arch betrays that it’s not a protest of agony. It’s one of desperation if the heat beneath your heel is anything to go by. “Don’t play with your food,” You admonish with a lopsided grin, “Or you’ll not receive your reward.” His eyes are glassy as they stare at you, his teeth tearing the skin of his bottom lip as his fists clench on his thighs. An admirable show of discipline. You grind your foot against him just to watch his mouth fall open with a labored inhale. He leans forward once you no longer have him pinned by your heel, bracing his hands once more on your thighs. 

You lean back against the beam to support yourself as you let your legs part a little. His murmur of “Yes, Master,” is hoarse this time, as if he’s forgotten how to use his mouth for anything other than serving you. His tongue hasn’t lost it’s touch. It’s an inferno against your sex, engulfing his master until your back arches against the beam with a stuttering inhale. The more he feasts, the higher the pitch your praise for him reaches until your throat and your limits reach their peak. With your fist in his locks like the reigns of a horse, you hold him steady and fuck against his mouth, movements erratic until the prince falters in keeping up with them. His jaw slackens in submission, his tongue still hot against over sensitive flesh as he takes his role as a toy. 

It’s the rumble of his muffled, wet moan that finally ends it, tongue greedily accepting his reward in the form of bitter cum. His hands now simply serve to support your trembling thighs while you ride your orgasm out against his lips. Coming back to reality is hazy, but oh is it so pretty. Hien sits back when you release your death grip on his hair, his eyes half lidded and his mouth smeared with saliva and cum like some sort of crude lipstick. Some of it disappears with a swipe of his tongue, leaving your heart skipping against your ribs and your groin aching. “Good boy,” Your croon cracks a little. The crack of bamboo is louder when you dislodge the nails of your other hand from it, both now reaching for his cheeks. The touch garners an alert gaze now, as if started by the gentle cupping and caresses along sticky skin. “You did such a good job. Do you make it a habit of letting people fuck your mouth?” His cheeks glow at the praise, and flush more at your implications. 

The ‘no’ forms quietly on his lips as he shakes his head in your hands. That adoring gaze follows when you finally sink down to his level, stroking your palms along his stubble. “Only you, Master.” His voice is fucked out and wispy but he doesn’t skip a beat. The sincerity in it makes your throat clench and your toes curl. 

“Do you want your reward now?” You whisper to him as you stroke his bangs from his face, and can’t help but to notice his eyes watching your lips as they move. You can see his lust addled brain trying to process the offer, betrayed by his bleary gaze suddenly lighting up. When he nods, he earns a soft kiss to his temple. “Yes what?” You murmur, and purr when he calls you ‘Master’ once more. 

“Hand me that sash.”

* * *


	2. Part 2: Bondage boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuhhh I'm sry it took so long I hit a slump a few times and tHE KIND RESPONSES I GOT MADE ME NERVOUS. I didn't proof read this since I wanted to get it up before I went out of town. Soooo any mistakes feel free to hit me up about over @thepeachcompany on tumblr

Hien is beautiful on the battlefield, all cold steel and hot blood; glistening sweat and muscles flexing like a tiger’s beneath his flesh.

But he is equally beautiful here, rendered nude and powerless. There’s hunger burning in his eyes as he watches your hand work between your thighs. There’s drool at the corner of his mouth, and you’ve lost track of how many times he’s chewed his lip but now it’s all pink and raw. You plunge your fingers deep, shuddering bodily. You hear him grunt, lifting your head just in time to see him jerk against his bonds.

It’s a painful process for you both. You’d love nothing more than to give him what he desires, but injuring yourself in the process puts a damper on the game. Nobody likes broken chess pieces.

It’s amusing in itself however. For every move you make plucks one of his strings until you’ve learn to play him like an instrument. A pitched moan makes him shudder; spreading yourself wide had made him lurch forward until the silk bit into his skin; the slick sounds of your fingers working yourself open had made his cock twitch and arousal spill over the tip.

You taunt him. It’s mean, perhaps a little too mean. It’s too amusing not to, not when he nods his head so earnestly when you ask him if he’s hungry. Does he want this? How badly? Your voice is poisonous, a seductive hiss between your teeth as you slowly withdraw your fingers from within you. His eyes aren’t on your face, instead burning holes in the flesh of your thighs where oil runs in rivets along your battle scars. “I want it!” He snaps, lurching forward again like a vicious mutt, eager to catch a taste of what he’s been starved of. 

Yet all the fire ebbs in his gaze when you slide into his lap with the dangerous grace of a serpent, all honey sweet smiles as your fingertips trace along his thighs, smearing oil and your cum in their wake. 

Your fingers are still slick when you bring them to his lips, tapping your forefinger against his mouth chidingly. “Do I need to gag you too?” His gaze flickers across your face hesitantly, and he shakes his head ‘no’. “Good boy. I’m trusting you to mind your voice now.” There’s far too much casualness in your tone, given you’re poised perfectly over his cock. Your fingers reach beneath you to trace it just to watch him purse his lips together.

His groan breaks through them when you sink down onto him. It’s worth the burn of the stretch to watch his eyes pop open and his jaw go slack. Even you have to sink your teeth harshly into your lip to trap the whine behind it. The stretch isn’t terrible, nor is it a foreign sensation. No, it’s familiar, your body too used to it by now from too few nights of peace, perfect for clandestine kisses stolen in the dark. It’s the restraint. It’s resisting the urge to drop fully down onto it and relish in the way it sets every nerve ending on fire. While there is pleasure to be had for yourself, the true satisfaction lies in watching his face contort in a mixture of raw pleasure, and shaken discipline. 

Soon enough the feeling of fullness bottoms out, bodies now flush together as you settle fully in his lap. It’s so  _deep_. 

The ‘yes’ escapes between your teeth in a serpentine hiss, and his wordless croak joins it. His breath is hot against your throat, his teeth so close. There’s a quiver in the muscles of his shoulders, betraying fraying tension and overexerted discipline. He’s been good. You decide to reward him with a tip of your head and gentle pressure to the back of his own.

Like a parched man, he buries his face in your throat and litters it in ravenous kisses and stinging suckles. The drag of his teeth makes you clench and grind hard against him. It’s good, so good, and you keen softly with s dragged out roll of your hips.

The kisses stutter, his breath raspy and labored. There’s a wheeze of something that you nearly miss, but it’s familiar enough that you sober from your bliss. He repeats it, a little louder; “Chi.. Chidori.”

Everything draws to a halt. Your nervous system screeches in protest as the heat of ecstasy slowly cools, but you’re too busy carding your fingers through his hair. “What’s wrong, my prince?” You murmur, smoothing away the locks that cling to his sweat and cup his face in your palms. His delayed answer makes your stomach flutter, but Chidori isn’t the command to end the game.

His breathing is ragged, his eyes heavy lidded, and his lips chapped when he drags his tongue across them. “Hurts,” Its a rasp that you have to tip your head closer to hear; “My arms hurt. Can we loosen the bonds?” The request is soft, his eyes bashful when he finally meets your own.

You give a gentle, reassuring smile and press a kiss to his brow. Your fingers slip to the silk twined around his twisted arms. Ah, yes, his flesh is reddened just a tad where the silk cuts too harshly into it. “I have an idea,” You explain as you follow the coiling silk to the knot between his shoulders. “Would you like for me to undo your arms, and keep your wrists bound?”

He thinks on it while you slide off his cock (an unpleasant action that leaves you both cringing), and lean over his shoulder so you can see what you’re doing. You feel him drop his forehead against your chest, and then his breath of relief when the bindings slacken around his biceps. “I think I would like that.” His answer is muffled against your flesh but you can feel it and it makes warmth blossom in your bosom.

“You still have to behave though.” You guide his arms from behind his back, taking a few minutes to massage the angry abrasions that twine his arms. It’s a vain reminder, for he’s been so good this whole time. Your massaging fingers work their way up his forearms and then his wrists, digging your thumbs between the tendons to massage out the ache. There a small twinge of guilt when you feel how strung taut they are and how they tremble with the hesitation to relax.

Still you wait, resting on his thighs while he catches his breath against your shoulder. Eventually he lifts his head, the light ignited in his eyes again and the dopey smile tugging at his lips. All too eagerly he tugs his wrists from your grasp, holding them together in offering. “Ready?” In the face of your hesitation he simply bobs his head earnestly, and you can’t help but to sigh. “I’m putting it back on now.” Another eager bob as you press the silk to his wrists. Instead of binding tight, you choose instead to twine the sash again and again until the layers of silk become firm and unyielding. To be sure, you tuck two fingers in the gap his arms make, testing the tension against his skin. At your cue, he gives a few wriggles and twists, and finds that unless he’s really trying to render the silk into threads once more, there’s no discomfort. But he won’t. Escaping his bonds is another game for another night. 

 “Who is my good boy?” You croon, stroking the ridge of his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. His eyes are wide and hopeful and you can’t help but to laugh as you drag your nails through the scruff of his facial hair. “Yes, it’s you my pet.” With a swooning sigh you dip your head and guide his bound arms over it to embrace you. “Better?” You delight in his smile, and the subtle squeeze of his arms.

 “For your reward, I’ll make you feel really good.” The doting croon has left your tone, replaced with a sinful whisper as you sink down onto his cock again. His whimper is sweet, trapped behind clenched teeth as his eyes flutter closed. You keep your own open, drinking in his expression the deeper you take him in. His features pinch together, a dark flush taking over his cheeks as his breathing becomes shallow. Your hips meet his until you feel impossibly full. The muted, cracked moan is your own, the sound like splintering wood to your own ears.  
  
The ride is hard and slow this time. You grind hard on his cock, squeezing around it until he barks out a “Yes!” that makes your heart pound. 

Praises tumble from your lips, carried on harsh exhales and keening moans. Hien’s guttural groan joins you when you rake your nails across his shoulders and dig into his hair. Your tempo is erratic and desperate, your hips grinding shallowly when you feel his arms tighten and his teeth press against your shoulder. His name bubbles over your tongue while he works marks of love into your skin. “C-…” It’s a muffled croak that you almost ignore, too busy gnawing your bottom lip while you chase nirvana. “C-cum,” A breathy wheeze now as he mouths his way up the column of your throat. “I’m going to-" 

 "Don’t you dare!” Composure rattles as the panic in your voice rises. “Not. Yet!” Release is so dangerously close you can feel it like a razor’s edge. Your body tightens around his cock, milking a pained gasp from him. He can’t. Not until you say so. It’s the rules of the challenge, and Hien is no cheater. Your hips grind down, rolling in slow circles just to hear the broken sob of your name. His hair is practically matted by time you sink your fingers into the roots again, yanking his head back sharply. Lips smeared with drool, cheeks flush with exertion, and eyes dark with pleasure as he pants greedily for air. You wanted this debauchery painted and framed in your quarters. It belonged on the menu at the Bismark, where you could partake of its sweetness every damn day and the hunger  leaves your bottom lip at the mercy of your gnawing fangs.   
  
With a snarl you mash your lips hard against his own, swallowing up his whine. He fights so hard to keep up with your tongue and teeth, but his movements are sloppy and broken until you’re simply taking from his pliant mouth the way you had fucked it earlier. There’s still the faintest, bitter tang of your own juices on his tongue, the flavor making you shudder and moan. Soon enough the need for air wins out, freeing him from the kiss though you still pepper his lips with pecks and whispered praises until you feel your orgasm coiling between your thighs. 

You goad him then, ordering him softly to beg for release and he does so all too willingly. It’s a broken sob, and a mantra of pleas that makes your skin prickle and your nerves tingle. Shit- it’s too much- the sudden jolt making your legs quiver. Is it the begging? Or did your bodies finally meld into the perfect position to rake sweet torture over the sensitive spot hidden deep within? You don’t exactly care, too busy answering Hien’s pleas with a drawn out moan.

You peel your eyelids open to stare through the lustful haze into his own- what you can see of them anyway, from beneath heavy lids and blown pupils. You dip low then, pressing your mouth beneath his ear as you drop yourself down on his cock. Sweet praises tickle his ear, before you finally grant him the permission he’s waited on baited breath for. As if snipping the bindings, he shudders violently, his choked cry muffled against your shoulder as you sink your teeth into his own. 

Even as he slowly floats back down from Nirvana, you ride him through his orgasm, greedily chasing your own. The over stimulation has him whimpering, but it’s a pain he only has to endure a little longer. Once it’s washed over you, you slump against him with a stretched moan of elation. The temptation to just melt right there is sweet, but you aren’t willing to deal with peeling yourself apart once the cum dries. 

Besides, the effort it all worth it to see Hien gazing up at you with a dopey, dazed grin as he rasps; “Thank you, _Master_.”

* * *

 

 It's taken some time, but the brush in your hand is finally able to glide through his hair without the grating sound of knots being yanked apart. Hien sighs softly through his nose, eyes closed as he tips his head back into your lap. "You did so good today." You tell him as you pass the brush through his tresses once more. He only hums softly in response, but from where you're seated you can see the sanguine grin pulling his lips upward. "Was I too rough?" His brows furrow and he gives a small shake of his head as his mouth forms a silent 'No.'

“I’m... uncertain how I feel about being bound.” He confesses while you delicately drape his hair back over his shoulders to keep all your hard work from coming undone. Your fingers graze the fading abrasion that crosses his shoulder blades and coils his arms. There’s the faintest twinge of guilt, one you have to remind yourself not to dwell on. Making mistakes was part of learning. Forgiveness is bright in Hien’s soft gaze as he twists around to look at you, draping himself across your lap and twining his arms around your middle. His mouth slants in a dopey grin. “But you were right, I did quite enjoy the hair pulling. Just don’t give me a bald spot, alright?” 

You don’t make any promises. The idea of Hien with a Hingashi lord’s bald spot and top knot has you tittering until your cheeks are flush once more. There’s an irritated grumble against your middle, which you attempt to soothe by digging the pads of your thumbs into his temples, massaging in slow circles. The rumbling fades away into contented sigh, muscles coming undone until the young lord is practically melting across your thighs. “Will you be able to fulfill your duties tomorrow?”

He doesn’t answer at first, and for a good moment you think perhaps he’s dozed off in your lap. Eventually he grunts, then tips his head into your palm. “I shall be fine. Yugiri doesn’t ask too many questions. Besides, I have endured far less pleasant aches.” The way ‘pleasant’ rolls off his tongue is smug, as if he’s discussing devouring an entire cheesecake, not being strung up in silks and used like a common whore. As silly as it is, there’s a lack of mirth in your smile. It is true, his scars tell a tale of suffering on par with your own, perhaps even heavier, and you can not help but to smooth your fingers over the one that traverses his shoulder blade.

“Come to bed then.” You finally bid, untangling the reluctant lord from you so you might lead the pouting man to lie along side you. The reprieve is short lived, for Hien’s hands are greedy when there is no rules or ropes to keep them at bay. They grab for you, dragging you into his hold as he curls protectively around you. Your grunt of dismay and slight squirming goes ignored, answered only by a dopey grin on a face that feigns slumber. “Nobody falls asleep that fast, Hien!” 

Defeat is inevitable, coming in the form of an reluctant sigh as you melt into his hold. You remember his expression when the army had marched into the Menagerie, finding you ragged from the most difficult battle of your life, bathed in blood that was and was not your own. You let him have this moment of peace amidst the revolution, of reassurance that your heart still thrummed beneath the palm that rested across your chest. 

It’s worth it, once the sun lights up the sky and spills across your bedding. You were up long before it, as you tend to be these days. However, it’s just early enough that you get to watch the sunshine spill across his still slumbering face; his jaw slack and his brow softened, as if not a care in the world peppered his dreams. 

You think, as you trace the lines of his face with your eyes and breathe in his scent, that you would like a future where moments like these wouldn’t be _so rare_.

**Author's Note:**

> i have never posted to Ao3 b4 im so sry pls pray 4 me um i like feedback??  
> pls be gentle with me  
> breaking it up into chapters bcuz this one felt rly long


End file.
